A Decided Lack of Professionalism
by cinnamon badge
Summary: [DracoGinny] If there's one thing Ginny Weasley hates, it's being kept waiting.


**Author's Note: **Written for the 100quills challenge on lj. Prompt #95: message. Harry Potter is not mine.

He was late.

Ginny checked her watch for the tenth time in nearly as many minutes, and huffed in annoyance. He shouldn't have been late. Being known as one of the best, most efficient spies in the Ministry's employ certainly didn't excuse his tardiness, and she was sure that if Kinglsey knew, he would've had some choice words. _Come on_, she thought, _you should've been here fifteen minutes ago. If I'm late they won't go easy on me._

She shifted uncomfortably in her disguise. Though she normally had no problem dressing up in Muggle clothes -- as she had had to do several times now, in her capacity as a Ministry liaison -- today they had made her dress like a Muggle teenager: a Muggle teenager that must never have opened up a fashion magazine before, at that. Her bright red hair, now bleach blonde, had been cut short and spiked up in all directions, and her lips were covered in some nasty-tasting black lipstick. She was dressed in a ripped-up vintage Manchester United jersey under a denim vest, and her red plaid skirt barely covered her arse. Thigh-high black boots completed the ensemble and her misery, for it was only Ginny's private fear of needles that had kept her from being given piercings to go with everything else.

"Just one earring?" Hermione had said, back at headquarters, showing her some archival photographs of punk Muggles. "In your eyebrow, maybe?"

"This was never in my job description," Ginny moaned. "_No_ earrings, and that's _final_."

The club music was giving her a headache, too. The bass had been turned up so loudly, the very walls and floor vibrated, but no one else seemed to mind. Colorful lasers flashed everywhere, and a mirrorball rotated slowly above everyone's heads, sending tiny squares of light circling all around the room. Ginny moved to the beat, mimicking the other dancers she saw. A bloke wearing a Clash t-shirt started dancing with her, and she gave him a sultry smile. She must've been doing something right after all. If this supposedly wonderful spy didn't show up in another ten minutes, though, she was out of here.

One of the young men at the bar caught her eye again, and Ginny turned her back on him. She'd noticed him a while ago, not in the least because of his eye-catching acid green mohawk. He wore tight black leather pants and a Sex Pistols t-shirt in serious need of mending, and around his wrists were those silly wristguards she'd seen so many other people wearing. He made her nervous; she had caught him staring at her at least five times already. If he made any trouble, she would have no problem whipping her wand out of her vest and showing him she meant business

Someone touched her waist, and Ginny's heart leapt to her throat. _About damn time_, she thought, moving to turn around, but his other hand on the other side of her waist kept her facing forward. The Clash bloke lifted his chin to her new partner, signaling no hard feelings, and went in search of another girl.

"I think it goes more like this," he said in her ear. He moved her hips against his just so, copying the movements of the dancers around them. Ginny was embarrassed to feel her face heat at the intimacy of their contact. She couldn't even bloody _see _him, and here he was putting the moves on her! _Professional my arse!_

"My mistake," she said. She hooked an arm around his neck and leaned into him, feeling taut muscles and a flat stomach against her back. All she wanted to do was get what she'd come for, get out of this hellhole, and get back to headquarters. This bloke had better be quick, because the heels on her ridiculous boots were starting to kill her.

Of course, it wasn't meant to be. "You're much better than my last partner, at least," he said. He'd started doing some interesting things with his lips and her neck. Ginny shivered, struggling to keep her mind clear. "She had no rhythm at all."

"Oh no?" Ginny knew for a fact that the last witch to liaise with this particular spy had quit in a huff and gone to work in the Magical Sports and Games Department. "Shame, that."

"Terrible shame," he agreed. His hands slid from her hips down her thighs, then back up to her torso, sending sparks all throughout her body. _He isn't supposed to be doing things like this_, Ginny thought angrily, even while she arched towards his touch. _I'll slap a sexual harassment charge on him, then we'll see who's grabby._

"I waited half an hour for you to stop being so conspicuous," he whispered, his lips brushing the outer shell of her ear. "I prefer it when they send me liaisons that are at least competent."

Ginny bristled at that, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but she bit it back. Instead, she murmured, "What are you talking about, love?"

"You kept looking at your watch. You know that you should never wear a watch with such attire."

"I really don't --"

"I'd guess that you've only been on the force a few months, tops," he said, right when one of his hands brushed the inside of her thigh. Ginny had to stifle the moan that came from the back of her throat. "At the very least, they didn't brief you all that well about me."

"Love, I still don't --"

"The best I can say about you is that they taught you this part well." He ground his hips into hers again. "Would you care to join my table?"

Finally, the trigger phrase. "I don't know how to play poker," she said, relieved.

"Ah, but I play Exploding Snap." He left her suddenly, leaving her body craving for his, and led her off the dance floor. She noticed, randomly, that his fingernails were painted black, seconds before she looked up and realized that the elusive spy was none other than the bloke with the green mohawk, who had been standing at the bar.

He flung her up against the wall where the loos were, heedless of the people walking in and out of them, and started assaulting her neck with those talented lips of his. She cast a wandless protective ward around them before her mind was too far gone. "You stupid prick," Ginny hissed in his ear, "I've been with the Ministry nearly a year, and never have I faced such a _decided_ lack of professionalism and --"

"Security?" he murmured, as he worked his way up and down her throat. The lurid green color of his hair was beginning to hurt her eyes. "Ah. So you knew how dangerous that fellow was."

"You mean --?"

"Yes, him in the Clash shirt. I've been tailing him for months. I would have let you flounder a bit more had he not started making advances." His hand slid up underneath her jersey, palm flat against her smooth skin. Ginny trembled. "He's killed seven witches in the past year, but he goes for the lonely ones."

"I've dealt with murderers before," she said through her teeth. She reached down and cupped his leather-clad arse with both hands. He jolted in surprise, and Ginny gave him a wicked smile when he pulled away. "I'm not some helpless female, you know."

He raised a pale eyebrow at her. The corridor was far too dark to see what color his eyes were, but Ginny doubted he would have left them their real color anyway, if his hair was anything to go by. "Adventuresome, aren't we?" he said. "I'm starting to like you."

"I'd hate to see what you do to the ones you don't like," she purred, raising one of her knees between his spread legs. "Now give me the fucking message or there go the family jewels. Kingsley's expecting me back in twenty minutes."

He smirked at her, and crushed her between the wall and his body. "You'll have to come get it," he said huskily, before he slammed his lips onto hers. Ginny groaned before she could stop herself, and clutched his shoulders. He delved into her mouth with his tongue, tasting vaguely like some strong alcohol and bar nuts. Merlin, but he was a good kisser, his shabby attire and coarse treatment of her aside. She was just beginning to wonder what this had to do with Kingsley's message when, before she knew what was happening, he had slid a miniature, waterproof scroll into her mouth and tucked it between her teeth and the side of her cheek. Even then, he kept kissing her, until she lifted her knee a bit and he backed off, that aggravating smirk still on his face.

That was when it hit her: she knewshe'd seen that look before, those pointed features, and though it was dark in the club, and he'd changed his accent, and she never would have thought she'd see him with a _mohawk_... She'd heard he was working for the Ministry now, but had passed it off as misheard rumors and idle speculation.

"Are you quite through?" she said, barely maintaining the "bedroom eyes" look Hermione had told her to use.

"Maybe." He leaned towards her again.

She raised her knee even higher. "So I'm guessing you don't want to procreate, am I right?" she bit off.

He scowled at her. "Tell Shacklebolt our man will be at the address I've given you, at the date and time specified," he said. "I'll need at least a full squad for support. This bloke's better with deadly hexes than Moody, and twice as mad."

"Consider it done," she said. She looked quickly up and down the corridor. "Well. I'd love to stay and continue this snog, but some of us have proper work to do."

He braced himself with his hand against the wall, trapping her. "Why haven't they sent you to me before?" he wondered aloud.

"Because, Draco --" she paused to enjoy the shocked expression on his face "-- I am fairly good with hexes myself, and people usually know not to cross me."

"A line has been crossed," he said. He stepped away from her, his hands up in surrender. "I may not like giving up, but I always know when to back off."

"You learn quickly," she said, running her eyes up and down his wiry body. Maybe working with him wouldn't be so bad after all. Merlin knew he kissed better than any of her old boyfriends had. "I'm starting to like you."

"Who are you?" he demanded, frowning.

Ginny closed the distance between them, until their lips were nearly touching, and looked directly into his eyes. "That's just going to kill you, isn't it, the not knowing?" she whispered, a smirk curling her lip. She pinched his bottom and started down the corridor, but he caught her hand before she left the protection of her Silencing ward.

"Tell them I want you assigned to me," he said, in a tone that left no room for argument.

She glanced coyly at him over her shoulder. "Consider it done." She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Malfoy staring after her in fascination.


End file.
